


Firebomb

by QueenSabriel



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/F, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, The Carnivorous Carnival missing scene, esmé squalor is just so thirsty idk, good old fashioned femmeslash, mostly pwp but there’s some character development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenSabriel/pseuds/QueenSabriel
Summary: It was a pleasure to burn





	Firebomb

The world is in general a vast and lonely place, but there are few places vaster or lonelier than a desert at night, even when one is at the center of a fairgrounds. The Hinterlands were certainly no exception, and as Olivia Caliban changed from Madame Lulu's get-up into something slightly more comfortable for sleeping, she paused briefly and listened to the sound of the wind rushing over the wasteland outside. Every now and then there came too a burst of raucous, drunken laughter from the direction of the tent where Olaf and his compatriots were staying. 

Normally laughter was a pleasant thing. Normally laughter would have reminded Olivia that she was not alone. Now, tonight, here, it did the exact opposite; it reminded her that she was very, very much alone. 

 _Keep going_ , she told herself as she turned to face the mirror, fumbling around for a hairbrush.  _You must keep going, that's all you can do._

Olivia looked up at the mirror and let out a startled shout, spinning around and brandishing the hairbrush like it was a weapon instead of a very blunt personal grooming instrument.

"Oh,  _please_ ," Esmé Squalor sighed. "Don't look so raccoon in the headlights. Also  _don't_  look so surprised—the only thing more transparent than your disguise is that night shirt. Honestly." She took a long drink from the nearly overflowing wine glass in her hand, holding Olivia's gaze as she swallowed. "Just don't say anything about my coming here, Olaf thinks we need to be cautious or something like that but I was just so  _bored_. There's nothing to do here if you don't want to sit and watch your boyfriend and his friends get drunk."

Olivia's brain tried to parse what, exactly, was happening, failed, crashed, restarted again. She set the hairbrush down and in doing so took a glance at the front of her night shirt—it was indeed on the wrong side of 'thin' and she folded her arms over her chest, adopting a grumpy expression to go with it.

Esmé was wandering now, walking slowly around the tent and eyeing things like she was at a very  _Out_ flea-market. Abruptly she turned, and then offered the glass of wine to Olivia. "Would you like some? It's a violently atrocious Pino. Notes of burnt rubber and asphalt. Served at trunk temperature. Take some, I have a whole box of it." She gestured with her other hand in the direction of the door where Olivia did indeed see a cardboard wine box sitting on the floor.

To further her surprise, Olivia found herself reaching for the glass, taking it from Esmé's over-manicured fingers, and raising it to her lips.

Esmé wasn't wrong; the wine was both violent and atrocious, but she took a generous sip before passing it back.

It burned her throat on the way down.

This was a bad idea.

"What do you want?" Olivia asked, watching the other woman warily.

Esmé snorted. "Please. Ask what I  _don't_ want, that list is far shorter."

"I mean what do you want here, right now, in this moment, why are you in my tent?" Olivia asked.

"I told you," Esmé said, swallowing another gulp of wine, eyeing the glass, handing it back to Olivia. "I was bored."

Now when Olivia took the glass she could see a smudge of red from Esmé's lipstick near the rim. She studied it for a split-second then turned the glass, drank, passed it back. "Cat and mouse game, is that it?" she asked. "Shark and seal? Polar bear and human?"

"Oh, that," Esmé waved one hand dismissively. "No. I'm not going to kill you  _tonight_. Don't drink and murder, it never works out well."

Olivia narrowed her eyes. "I'm so glad you have such strong morals."

"Of course I have morals," Esmé said, walking back to pick up the box of wine and bring it over to the sitting area before setting herself gracefully onto the pile of multi-colored cushions. "They all just center around self-preservation."

"You mean self-interest. Self-indulgence. Self-centeredness. Selfishness."

"Listen to you, little Miss Veracity."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "I think you mean 'Verbosity'."

"Whatever," Esmé said. "Either way, you're a librarian, we get it, you don't need to rub it in."

"'Veracity' would have been correct if you were agreeing with me," Olivia said, walking over to sit across from her, hugging her knees to her chest, the exact opposite of the way Esmé was lounging now. "But somehow I doubt that was the case."

Esmé refilled the wine glass, took a drink, then leaned over, holding it out to Olivia. 

Olivia took the glass. She took a drink. She took a long, hard look at Esmé Gigi Geniveve Squalor. "Are you aware that you're an absolute monster?" she said in the exact same tone that one might say 'are you aware that your mascara is smudged' or 'are you aware your shoelace is untied' or 'are you aware that you have very nice shoulders and I want to touch them.'

"Yes," Esmé said, and she bared her perfectly straight, white teeth in a wicked smile. "I  _am_  a monster. This world is cruel, the only hope women like us have of surviving it is to be even crueler."

"Women like us," Olivia repeated, slowly. "We're not alike."

Esmé lifted the wine glass to examine the deep, old-blood color of the contents as the light from the single table lamp shone through it. "Yes we are," she said slowly, eyes still fixed on the wine. "We're two edges of the same knife, you and I."

 _More like you're the blade and I'm the handle_ , Olivia thought, squinting.

The glass was both full and in her hand again, and it took even more wine sliding down her throat for her to feel the burn this time, senses dulled, head swimming. She leaned back against one of the large pillows and let her head loll. The entire tent seemed to be swaying like it was on a sea instead of sand. She had been drunk so few times in her life that she wondered if she'd be able to tell if she was being poisoned or if this was just how it was supposed to be.

Olivia must have said that out loud because Esmé's laughter followed.

"Alcohol  _is_  a poison," she said. "Isn't that just terribly dramatic of us? We poison ourselves recreationally."

"We have to be..." Olivia lost her train of thought, tipping her head back again. "The world is cruel, we have to be crueler to survive. Is this what you meant?”

She registered a faint rustling of fabric, and then when Esmé spoke, it was from right above her, but still Olivia didn't open her eyes. "You wonder how I'm such a monster, I wonder how you are so soft. I might pity you, except pity is a useless, boring emotion so I don't generally bother with it."

Realizing perhaps a little too late that she might have given Esmé an undue advantage, Olivia opened her eyes. The other woman was kneeling beside her, and as Olivia watched, Esmé emptied the wine glass into her mouth but didn’t swallow, instead keeping her lips pursed as she set the cup down, then turned to face Olivia. 

Even the wind outside was holding its breath. 

Esmé reached down, threading her fingers into Olivia’s hair, tugging her closer, and Olivia’s lips were already parted, so that when they kissed her mouth was immediately filled with the wine, which burned, and the taste of Esmé’s lips, which burned in different ways. She broke away so she could swallow without choking, but Esmé’s talon-like nails dug into the back of her head and she let out a hiss. 

Olivia surprised herself by how hungrily she initiated the next kiss, bruising, biting, hands grabbing, bodies shifting so that Esmé was straddling her lap, just shy of intimate contact, and when she threw her head back to gasp for air Olivia was afforded a truly sinful look at the line of Esmé’s throat. She followed it down to the dip of her collarbone, lower to the curves of her breasts. She reached out to touch only to have her hand swatted away. 

“Oh no, my dear,” Esmé said, breathlessly, looking down at her, a glint in her eye that sent goosebumps running up Olivia’s arms. “Not yet.” She ran the tips of her nails down the side of Olivia’s neck to the collar of her worn out night shirt, which looked even more pathetic against the blue and gold dress Esmé wore. 

Olivia trembled a little, hands hovering, wanting, finally settling on Esmé’s bare shoulders, which really did feel as nice as they looked. 

Esmé’s hands were on Olivia’s sides, one thumb brushing the side of her breast. “What do you say?” she murmured when Olivia gave another little shudder. 

“Please,” Olivia whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “Please, Esmé.”

“No. You don’t get things by being nice all the time,” Esmé murmured. “If you really want something you have to demand it. Try again.”

Olivia opened her eyes. 

Esmé gazed down at her. “Well? Tell me what you want. Don’t ask.  _Tell_  me.”

"Touch me," Olivia said.

"Good girl," Esmé murmured, brushing her thumb over Olivia's nipple through the material of her shirt, then sliding her hands down and back up again, pushing the garment up with them. 

Olivia let Esmé tug the shirt off over her head, flushed and breathing heavily through her nose. As Esmé bent to graze her teeth against the side of Olivia's neck, hand returning to her breast, her hips rocked forward just a bit, just enough to elicit a soft gasp of a moan from Olivia. 

"Oh I have barely even gotten started with you yet," Esmé breathed. She scooted down, nipping at Olivia's skin as she went, pausing to mouth at her breast, fingers now ghosting over Oliva's ribcage, hands sliding around to support her lower back as she arched involuntarily.

Olivia's head was swimming. She was delirious, weightless, on fire. "Oh," she sighed, closing her eyes as she felt Esmé's lips against her stomach, and then, " _Oh_ ," as she felt Esmé's hands tugging her loose pajama bottoms off, taking her panties with them. Pushing herself up onto her elbows she swallowed, looking down. "Wait, are you…"

Esmé looked up from where she had settled between her legs. "I'm not sure how familiar you are with how this usually works but  _these_ ," she held up one hand, wiggling her fingers to direct attention to their long, stiletto-tipped nails, "mean your options are limited. But I'm not doing this for you, I happen to  enjoy going down on pretty girls." 

The way the words slid off her tongue dissolved any control or resistance Olivia had left. She managed to nod, letting out a little whimper as she fell back against the pillows, turning her head to watch Esmé, who flashed her teeth in another wicked smile before turning to kiss the inside of Olivia's thigh. Then she ducked her head before slowly, so slowly, laving her tongue against Olivia's folds.

"Oh," Olivia gasped, pressing one hand against her mouth and barely stifling the strained " _Oh fuck_ ," that came next.

"There," Esmé purred, glancing up at her. "I knew you had it in you."

"Don't you dare stop," Olivia gasped, and despite the breathlessness the order came out far more forceful sounding than she had known herself capable of.

Esmé pursed her lips, letting out a pleased, humming laugh before lowering her head again. Olivia hooked one leg over her shoulder, urging her closer. Esmé obliged, sliding her tongue into Olivia for a moment then licking upwards, circling her clit, holding tighter to her hips as Olivia shuddered and bucked upward involuntarily.

Then, without warning, Esmé sat up. She looked down at Olivia and slowly wiped the back of her hand over her mouth.

"What," Olivia gasped, pushing herself up onto her elbows again. "Excuse me."

"You asked what I wanted, earlier," Esmé said. "What I want, right now, here, is for you to fuck me. Properly. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I…" Olivia's voice died on her tongue.

Esmé leaned over her, resting one finger against her lips. "I'm sure you can. They say it's always the quiet ones. Now, I'll just be a moment." She pushed herself to her feet then, touching her hair and starting towards the door, though she paused long enough to look back over her shoulder and say, "Don't finish without me."

Once she had slipped back out into the night Olivia let out a groan from between her clenched teeth, rolling over onto her stomach. Her whole body was still thrumming, still felt hot, still felt…she trailed her fingers up the inside of her leg…wet, too. She bit her lip, inhaling and reaching for the box of terrible wine. She poured what was left of it into the glass, downing it in a quick swallow.

What was she doing. What was she  _doing_. 

She was about to fuck Esmé Squalor, apparently, and as terrible a person as Esmé was the thought of it made Olivia's neck and cheeks flush and caused her to press her legs together to try and keep herself from doing just what Esmé had told her not to.

Footsteps on the gravel outside, then Esmé was in the tent once again, carrying a drawstring bag which she tossed down onto the cushions beside Olivia. She pointed at it. "Put that on. It's clean. There's lube in there too."

Olivia blinked, not comprehending for a second until her mind caught up with her and she realized Esmé meant what was  _inside_  the bag. She leaned over and tugged it open, reaching inside to draw out a harness with slim black leather bands. "Why do you have this?" she asked, letting a little too much curiosity creep into her voice.

"Why do you  _think_  I have it?" Esmé scoffed, curling her lip a little. "What did I just tell you to do to me? Are you going to or not?"

Looking up, Olivia said sternly, "Take your clothes off."

"That's more like it," Esmé murmured, reaching up behind herself to unzip her dress, which pooled down around her feet, revealing that she had either taken her underwear off before hand or simply hadn't been wearing any to begin with. She stood there for a moment, chin tilted up, shoulders back, baring the whole length of her toned, perfect body for Olivia to see. "Well? What do you think?"

 _I think terrible people shouldn't look this good_. Olivia thought.  _I think you're really, really hot. I think you know you're really_ _,_ _really hot and this is probably a trap_ _but I can't bring myself to care right now._

What she said was, "I think you should come over here."

Esmé stepped over, sinking down onto the cushions, reclining back onto them with cat-like grace, effortless and enticing. She looked at Olivia, taking in her expression with the slightest of smiles. "It's intoxicating," she said. "The power to make people look at me the way you are now, like they can't think of anything they want more in the world."

"Shut up," Olivia said, but it was less forceful than she would have liked because she had looked down to figure out how to step into the harness and pull it up around her hips.

Esmé laughed. "Oh I  _like_  that, darling."

As she tightened the straps around her thighs and hips, Olivia avoided looking at herself in the mirror that stood close by, worried she might look more ridiculous than sexy since the very idea of wearing a fake cock made her cheeks flush. When she chanced a look down at Esmé, however, the other woman’s face told a different story: she was gazing up at Olivia with a ravenous expression, like in that moment there was nothing she wanted more in the world.

Oh. 

She had been right about this too, it  _was_ intoxicating. 

“Wonderful,” Esmé said, stroking one hand along the length of her own glorious body as she took her time looking Olivia over. 

Olivia walked over and knelt on the cushions, nudged Esmé’s legs apart to lean forward between them, along her body, kissing her, deeply, mouths open, tongues on teeth, wet, hungry, obscene desperation taking control. Her hands moved from hips to sides to breasts, pressing, caressing, one moving higher, up that elegant neck to her hair, pulling Esmé’s head back, biting at her throat. 

She was no longer herself, but a different creature entirely, a storm of desire, and writhing under her Esmé seemed only capable of gasping “Oh, fuck,  _fuck_ ,” into the still and otherwise silent air of the tent. 

Something hit Olivia’s arm. Esmé had grabbed the small bottle of lube and was urging Olivia to take it. “This,” she panted. “I need you inside of me  _now_.”

Olivia leaned to the side, fumbling with the bottle, fumbling to squeeze some onto her fingers, pressing her hand between Esmé’s legs and letting out a little groan when she felt just how wet she already was. 

Esmé caught Olivia’s face in one hand and sat up. Lips only a fraction of an inch away, she murmured, “I told you, didn’t I. It’s decadent to know you are so desired. Now fuck me, Olivia, I want to feel this for days. I want to feel this long after you’re gone.”

Olivia gazed at her for a second, then, baring her teeth, pushed Esmé down onto the cushions once again. She slicked the lube on as quickly as she could then leaned forward again, and Esmé wrapped her long legs loosely around Olivia’s waist while Olivia reached between them. 

It took only a push of her hips and she felt the cock slip easily inside the other woman. 

Esmé arched her back, moaning loudly, her hands clutching at Olivia’s shoulders, legs tightening around her. “Yes,  _fuck_ , yes,” she gasped, head pressing back into the pillows. 

Olivia pushed into her as far as she could, gasping as the strap between her legs shifted into place, creating an irresistible friction against her clit as she pulled back and then pushed in again, fluidly rolling her hips. The bite of Esmé’s nails into her skin kept her present and grounded as heat ran up her spine, but just barely. 

Turning her head she saw that she had a perfect view of them in the mirror, and that they looked incredible, possibly the most incredible thing she had ever seen; the straps of the harness dark against her hips, the muscles of Esmé’s calves and thighs tense as she kept her legs around Olivia’s waist, their faces flushed, breasts pressed together, eyes hungry, hands seeking…

She must have been staring too long because Esmé reached up, grabbing her roughly by the hair, yanking her head down into such a bruising kiss that Olivia tasted blood over the lingering acidic bite of wine in Esmé’s mouth. 

Without even thinking she began to move her hips, harder, faster with each breathless second, fucking into Esmé with absolute reckless abandon, every nerve in her body searing, wanting this to end, never wanting this to end. 

Esmé arched and writhed beneath her, trying and failing to do more than just let Olivia move, breath escaping in harsh gasps as she practically sobbed with each thrust – “Yes,  _yes,_ oh sweet  _fucking_ Christ  _yes_!”

For a brief second Olivia felt a twinge of worry that someone would hear, and she leaned in the press her mouth to Esmé’s in an attempt to stifle the noise, but Esmé just dug her nails in harder. 

“Fuck being quiet,” she breathed, pushing her hips up into the next thrust. “Make me come so hard I scream.”

Heat and tension were beginning to pool low in Olivia’s body, and she found herself starting to ache for release, wanting to come, but she held herself, twisting her hips as she pushed in again, and again, bending almost in half to find Esmé’s breast with her mouth, biting into the soft skin then catching her nipple between her lips, sucking, caressing, one of Esmé’s hands clutching the back of her head, holding her in place. 

“Fuck,” Esmé moaned, almost voiceless, staring to tremble. “Fuck, I’m going— _fuck,_  I’m going to come, Olivia,  _Olivia_ _,_ please-! Please, harder, yes, God, Olivia-!” 

_Olivia_ _._

_Olivia please-!_

Begging, she was begging. Olivia had made her beg. Gritting her teeth Olivia put her hands down flat, leaning forward so she could practically slam into her. Esmé’s head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, tears and sweat glistening on her face, lips parting, one hand moving to cover her mouth, clamping down as she sobbed and then screamed against her palm, her whole body going tense, jerking, back arching off the cushion. 

Olivia broke apart. Everything released all at once in a pleasurable, overwhelming  rush, her own body arching back, fingers clenching, arms shaking, her muscles clenching tightly around nothing  and making her wish, desperately—

(And after that moment in the jail cell, thinking about it, pulling Esmé against the bars, later that night how hard she had come with her own fingers inside her, thinking about this woman, this dangerous monster of a woman... Not as hard as she came now.)

She collapsed. Wind knocked out of her she fell against Esmé’s chest, gasping in the smell of sweat, and sex, and what she could only identify as ash and roses. 

For a brief second Esmé’s hand rested on the back of her head. 

Then Esmé pushed her away and sat up. “Oh, fuck me that is so much better,” she sighed, combing her fingers through her hair. 

Olivia lay on her back for a second longer before getting up and, with shaking fingers, began to unbuckle and remove the harness. She looked up and found Esmé watching her. “You don’t have to go back, you know.”

Esmé’s brow furrowed, and then she began to laugh. “Oh, please,” she spat nastily. “You think one good fuck is going to save you? It didn’t work for Beatrice why would it work for you. That’s right, I fucked her too and then I watched her burn. You know why you’re still going to die, Olivia? Because you haven’t figured out that in this world you either use people, or you get used yourself.”

“You’re horrible,” Olivia said. 

“Yes,” said Esmé. “And that’s why I won’t be the one leaving here in a body bag.” She leaned forward then, kissing Olivia deeply. Pulling back an inch or so she smiled and murmured, “Thank you, darling. It’s been fun. You’re good. It’s almost a pity to let this go to waste, but you know how I feel about pity.”

Olivia slapped her.

 “I’m not usually a violent person,” she said, meeting Esmé’s gracefully surprised expression with a hard one. “But all I want to do right now is wrap my hands around your throat and choke you, you vile, despicable woman.”

Esmé’s eyes widened a little, and then the corner of her mouth curled upwards. “Is that an offer?”


End file.
